


Loose Ends

by FreckledSkittles



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: ADA Carisi, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, M/M, Professor Barba, Spoilers, i miss them, no smut but cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 22:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20824742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/FreckledSkittles
Summary: Barba wants to forget. Carisi wants to know what's left for them. They meet in the middle to discuss.Set after the season 21 premiere.





	Loose Ends

**Author's Note:**

> ***SVU SEASON 21 SPOILERS AHEAD***
> 
> Okay listen up folks
> 
> soul_writerr tweeted that the two best scenarios for ADA Carisi were either A) Barba watching a press conference on TV and poking fun at his husband because In This House We Stan Married Barisi, or B) Barba, after leaving the DA's office, seeing it and confronting Carisi
> 
> I didn't really do the second one but you know what it's okay because there's some Barisi for all your angsty needs <3 I may write a second chapter for this if it feels unfinished (they need to talk about their feelings these dumb weenies) but for now, I hope you enjoy!

Professor Barba has spent the last few years at Columbia’s law school, teaching future attorneys the basis of American law and the workings of the Constitution. The criminal justice system ripped a hole in his chest and left him bare, so he left it behind and dedicated himself to teaching ever since. His mother, ever passionate about education, pesters him during every weekend brunch to do this or try that; his students, the ones who are truly passionate and have the same spark he carried in him at their age, the ones who always ask questions and carry their discussions to his office, prod him for tales in the courtroom. Always the showy ones like Adam Cain, the controversial ones like the cops from the 27th that shot Terrence Reynolds.

By some miracle, he has yet to be pressured about the case that drove him out of the District Attorney’s Office.

From what he can tell, his students enjoy his classes. Aside from the obvious exhaustion of a university student’s schedule and the stress of law school, Rafael likes to think he’s helping them learn something and are doing something useful with their time. Or maybe he’s lost his mind and simply imagining things to put his mind at peace.

After his 9 AM class on criminal law and three meetings with students in his criminal investigation course, Rafael holds a study session for students who plan on taking the bar exam in the near future. Although he hasn’t been teaching for long, his sharp intelligence and ability to verbally spar have earned him a quick reputation among Columbia’s law students desperate to gain some headway in their careers and non-law students who need elective hours. He’s not surprised by it, but he’s certainly glad to know he still has his touch. He can captivate a room full of half-drunk, half-dozing kids trying to make it through to the next class as easily as a junior detective studying for his law degree.

Rafael runs through a few questions with them and guides them through the answers they would give. Some of them leave to attend other classes, others plan to remain there for the time planned. He has faith in all of them, and he lets them know. And while he tries not to pick favorites, the kids who come from nothing touch his heart a bit more than the others. They’re the ones he makes eye contact with when he assures them that their best is phenomenal and a reminder of how great they are.

He’s halfway through quelling their fears when a familiar voice—still smooth, accent distinct and gruff—breaks in. A hand briefly falls on his shoulder, the fingers of his right hand sending fire down his spine. Rafael doesn’t have to look up to confirm the identity of the man, but he does anyway, at least to confirm his presence.

“I don’t mean to break up your study session,” Carisi says, the corners of his lips twitching as he gathers the students’ attention, “but you guys are in good hands with Professors Barba. He knows what he’s talking about.” He looks down at him, and Rafael has to remind himself to breathe. It’s been a while since he’s seen this man—and so close, no less, his hair is so much grayer than he remembered—and he hadn’t planned on seeing him anytime soon. “Taught me everything I know.”

As quickly as he’s there, he’s gone. An empty space hangs on his shoulder where Carisi had touched him. Rafael blinks, clears his throat, and picks up where he left off. If there are any questions with his students, they don’t bring it up. Rafael’s just grateful he can talk without the migraine, a pain he hasn’t felt so intensely since he was an ADA, affecting him. He helps as much as he can, he assures them once again that they’ll get through it, and then he returns to his apartment. He makes some pasta, has a glass of wine, and watches the news discuss the latest success of an up-and-coming Assistant District Attorney, Dominick Carisi, Jr.

* * *

His mother was persistent in giving him advice on how to teach, but the one piece of advice Rafael followed the most was to never be afraid of changing his teaching style. If the lectures or lessons got too boring and blurred together, try an open debate or a larger discussion on the topics. He liked the days where his students argued popular cases, back and forth, always bringing out roaring passion and spotting the ones who will impress a courtroom.

One of those days, while acting as a judge for the objections thrown in mock court, he notes a familiar tall shape at the back of the room. He simply ignores it for the time being and continues teaching. The person doesn’t move until he dismisses class and starts to pack away his things. And even then, if he hadn’t recognized him from the gray in his hair or the weight on his shoulders that he remembers as a customary gift from the DA’s office, the gait would have done it. Long strides, swishing legs, curvy path. The owner is obvious.

Rafael stalls for time to think about what to say by taking his time packing away his papers and books. He hasn’t seen anyone from Manhattan’s Special Victims Unit since he left, nor has he planned on it. When he told Olivia Benson that he had to move on, he took it to heart. Being a prosecutor for New York County didn’t fill him with the same accomplished rush like it used to. Getting justice wasn’t enjoyable. The faces between perp and victim had started to blur. He was reckless, looking for an out, desperate to breathe on his own. Back then, the best he could do was throw it all away and give himself the worst but also the best reason to never return.

A few students stay back for questions. Rafael answers them as best he can, thankful he can hold off the discussion for a little bit longer. But, unfortunately, they don’t linger for long; the other man’s presence must have scared them enough to help them realize they shouldn’t idle any longer. Rafael thinks about telling them otherwise and keeping them until the visitor gets the point and leaves. There’s no class using the room after them. They could talk as much as they want.

When the last student bids goodbye until the next class, Rafael is finally forced to look at the detective—no, the prosecutor. His former position, quite literally. Carisi still looks the same: tall and lanky, dark suits that are definitely taken from the advice given to him years ago. The gray in his hair is a pretty silver against the dark blond, almost blocking out his original color. His eyes—though Rafael always forced himself to avoid gazing at that striking blue, especially out of the light—are still clear and bright, despite the obvious baggage SVU has delivered him.

“Well,” Rafael finally says, slinging his messenger bag on his shoulder, unable to stop himself from sassing Carisi, “I guess congratulations are in order.”

Carisi chuckles quietly and leans against one of the tables at the front. It’s strange to see him without a badge and gun glued to his hip. Like he left the house without a vital part of himself. “I guess they are,” he agrees. His voice is warm and slick, so far devoid of any form of disapproval or negativity. “Although if you don’t want to, I understand. I sorta stole your job.”

“How long did it take you? Six, seven years? That’s a long time undercover.”

Another laugh, this one louder, with his head thrown back. “Yeah, the only reason I shadowed you that one time was to steal all your information.”

Rafael clutches his chest mockingly and sighs. “I should have known. Next thing you’ll tell me is that your accent is fake.”

Carisi shrugs and tilts his head. “Let me keep some secrets.”

Rafael lets himself chuckle at the joke, but the moment they fall silent, he understands the situation. He can’t remember the last time he saw Carisi—he didn’t come to his trial and he certainly didn’t reach out during the case or after the verdict. And he could have reached out to them anytime, but he had to keep himself to some standard. He had to move on.

“Why are you here, Carisi?” Rafael whispers. He just barely throws the question out to him. “You definitely aren’t here to tie up any loose ends.”

Carisi glances at his hair—probably scoping out the light streaks of white that have sprouted up over the years, maybe over the soft scruff on his face and how unusual it is for an image usually clean-cut and in place. “I’m here because there aren’t any.”

Rafael scoffs and shakes his head. He starts to walk down the center aisle, not caring to look behind him to see if he’s being followed. Even if he did, Carisi would follow him, and he’d be able to keep up. “You never could take a hint.”

“Glad to see you haven’t changed,” Carisi shoots back.

“And neither have you, so stop stalling and get to the point.”

Carisi rushes in front of him to hold the door open for him. Rafael stops to sare at him, daring him to do anything that will give him a reason to ignore him for the rest of the walk back to his office. But he doesn’t do anything; he simply stands next to the door and waits for Rafael to walk through. When he doesn’t make a move, Carisi huffs and waves him forward. “Can you not enlighten me for two minutes?”

“You wanna ask for two minutes? I’ll hold you to it.” Rafael steps forward and walks as fast as he can. Carisi has to stretch a bit more to keep up with him but, of course, he manages without losing any breath. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Carisi sighs, shaking his head. “First off, Counselor, when I saw you in the cafe a few days ago, that was the first time I saw you since you left.”

“Good, so I won’t have to sue you for stalking.”

“Could you turn the attitude off for one minute and hear me out?” Carisi slides in front of him to stop him from walking; Rafael has half a mind to shove past him but decides to stop instead. He’s not the one chasing a former colleague who’s moved on from his past. “Just listen, for two minutes, and then you can say whatever you want about me.”

Rafael looks out at the campus grounds, watching the students splayed out on the green or bustling between buildings. He briefly recalls the time he spent at Harvard, the work he put in to get into an Ivy League and the years he wasted away. All the ideas, all the youth, tossed away because he got tired. If he can bear through the few sentences of guilt that Carisi has for him, he can get back to his life. “Fine. Get it out, Counselor. I wanna hear about whatever’s haunting you so much that you had to look up my workplace and schedule in order to talk to me.”

Carisi stares down at him as if he was waiting for him to go further, but once he proved he wouldn’t say anymore, the prosecutor nods in approval. “Alright. So you know I’m an ADA now. Specifically, I’m in your old office, with your former secretary—who says hi, by the way. But it’s…different, working at SVU, without having your insight on-hand, and I didn’t realize how much it bothered me until I saw you in the cafe.”

Rafael scoffs. “You did well enough until now.”

“That’s what it looks like. But it’s not the same. The other prosecutors…” He shuts his eyes, and the gray in his hair seems to make sense for a moment. There’s stress there that dangles from his shoulders and is sending him deeper into the ground beneath his feet. This reunion looks more like a call for help than anything else. “They don’t care. They don’t get invested. They do their job, they go home, and they don’t think anything of it.”

“That’s how it should be. You need a prosecutor who can do their job and live a life at the same time.” He slaps his shoulder, devoid of any comfort and simply meant to be teasing. Rafael really can’t help himself. “And if I were you, I’d do the same.”

Carisi’s eyes narrow, and he shrugs off his hand. “I didn’t come here just to say that. When I saw you in the cafe, I realized you were living a life that was completely separate from anything SVU had ever given you. You’re teaching at fucking Columbia, for Christ’s sake. You’re helping students study for the bar, you’re teaching them how to fight in a courtroom, and—”

“And what?” Rafael cuts him off. He’s quickly growing tired of the tangent they’ve come upon; it’s sounding more like a Carisi he would have traded words with to see how much they could poke each other. “You missed it? You want me to hold your hand through the inner workings of the DA’s office? You’re almost forty, why don’t you grow up?”

“I missed  _ you _ , Rafael.” The bark causes a few people to turn their heads and freezes Rafael’s heart in place. He was thankful that the only one who voiced the heartbreak over his loss was Olivia Benson. He could live with that, as much as it pained him to bid her farewell and walk away without turning back. At the very least, from a utilitarian defense, watching one person hurt was better than four. Carisi didn’t believe that.

“What are you doing?” Rafael asks, genuinely confused and trying to wrap his head around the situation. “What are you trying to get from me? You’re the only one in this exchange who feels this way.”

“You can’t possibly think that,” Carisi tries to argue, but Rafael shuts him down.

“If I did, I wouldn’t wait this long to tell you. Did you ever think about why I did it?” Rafael steps closer to him when he asks, but judging from the glare in his eyes, Sonny isn’t happy with the direction their conversation has taken. “Did it ever occur to you that I wanted this? No one forced me out. I asked for this.”

“I know. Cap told us. Which she told you about, by the way,” he adds. A scowl has taken residence on his face ever since the first line of snark was thrown his way. If he kept it up, he’d be like any other prosecutor in no time. “Her promotion? She called you. Amanda’s second baby? I called you. My promotion? We both called you.”

It’s easier to lie. It’s easier to pretend he never worked for New York County. He doesn’t have to think about everything he regrets if it never happened to him. He can pretend he never saw the missed call. “Sure you did. Congrats to all of you, for the record. But I have nothing to say on the matter.”

Carisi bites his lip and looks away. “You don’t get it. You seriously—” He steps away for a moment but returns quickly. He pulls a piece of paper out of his jacket’s inner pocket and shoves it in his chest. “Here. Amanda told me I’d need to prove myself. Told me to bring the clipping the squad saved.”

Rafael takes the paper and reads it, and his stomach instantly drops. It’s not a particularly big article, but it’s enough, and the words in the interview yell back at him. He wants to crumple the scrap and toss it in Carisi’s face, telling him off and forbidding him from ever crossing his path. He decides to stay focused on the headline instead. Perhaps, if he stares at it hard enough, he can make it vanish from both its physical form and his memory. Carisi’s presence makes much more sense, in a way he cannot ignore anymore.

_ Columbia Hires Former Assistant District Attorney As A Promising Addition To Law School _

“Where did you get this?” Rafael asks, quiet and small. His throat is suddenly too dry to speak, struck by the fear of what this all means.

“Where do you think?” Carisi snaps. “Did the FaceTimes with Nick mean anything to you? Once you become one of us, you don’t get to leave us behind. If we want you to still be part of our lives, we’re going to let you know. And we did, for so long, but you couldn’t be bothered. We chased after you like idiots, and you let us.”

Rafael hands the article back. Of course he would want to stay away from them, of course he would decline every attempt they took to contact him, of course he wanted to talk to them. Somehow they had become his family, nestled right in the space where his heart used to be, but he pushed them as far as he could to stop them from reaching out to him. Somehow, a long time ago, they no longer remained coworkers; they turned into people he would never want to watch suffer from the pain and heartache that could turn them away from him. It was easier to do it for them.

“Well?” Carisi demands, bending into his line of sight with a frown. “Anything?”

Rafael shrugs. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admits.

Something in the taller man softens, for just a moment, but it only lingers for so long. “Just be honest. You could have told us off at any time.”

“Do you know where you’re standing right now?” He waves around them, at the sprawling campus filled with intelligence that could save the world and expansive shields of literature and knowledge that comes in the form of wide windows and noticeable buildings. Students walk by, open-window classrooms reveal the lessons inside, activity and energy run across every corner of the university. “No one knows ADA Barba here. I have students who ask about my cases, but no one knows I pulled the plug on an infant who was going to stay sick for the rest of his life. And if they do, they don’t talk about it. I have peace here.”

Carisi swallows roughly. “You make it sound like you’re dead.”

Rafael grimaces. “Don’t you think it’s better that way?”

“Hey.” Carisi steps forward, a bit more personal than they’ve been in a long time. His hands fumble to land, anywhere, but he respects his distance and sets them down. “You can’t just say things like that.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He can smell Carisi’s cologne, woody and musky, and he briefly admires the tiny polka dots on his tie, but nothing else. It wouldn’t be right. “If I disappear from your lives without a trace, you won’t have to worry about me being there.”

“You couldn’t tell us? Of all the times I called, that Cap’s called—”

“No. I couldn’t.”

Carisi looks at him, critically, and Rafael knows instantly that he’s been found out. The words he had convinced himself were necessary for his case were useless now. No matter how many times he tries to tell his reflection that things would be better off if he could walk out of SVU’s lives and never look back, at the end of the day, it’s futile. A lie to his reflection is still a lie to himself. That’s all a mirror’s good for.

Rather than wait for the younger man to tell him what he’s known and avoided for so long, Rafael pushes past him and walks as fast as he can to his office. He wants to go back to papers and college courses and theses that are as far away from his past as he can go. At least, as an instructor and hopeful future professor, he can still do some good, even if it’s not what he planned for himself. He can guide law students on the right path, can direct others if they realize halfway through that the work is too much for them or their passion runs dry. He never faults those students, just wishes them well and sees them off.

“Barba.” Carisi goes after him, but he doesn’t stop for him. “Rafael!” When he still doesn’t stop, Carisi grabs his arm and pulls him back. Rafael glares at him but doesn’t move away. “Tell me you don’t want us in your lives.”

“I have homework to grade,” he insists.

“It can wait.”

“Counselor, I gave you the time to explain yourself, and I rebutted. Now, please, if you would leave me alone—”

“The only reason I’m an ADA is because of you.” Carisi holds his gaze, no matter how much he wants to look away and refuse eye contact. “I meant what I said in the cafe. You told me what you told those kids, I know you did. And I think you do too.”

“So what if I did?” Rafael, with renewed vigor at the assumption, tears himself away. It only adds more truth to Carisi’s argument, but he’d rather escape with his dignity than admit fault. He had enough mistakes in his past. “Anyone would.”

“No, they wouldn’t. That’s why I need you to tell me, to my face, that you’re through with us. Even if it hurts my feelings.” He adds a smile, as if that could lighten the mood. “It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

Rafael doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t argue, or defend himself, or confirm the accusations against him. He walks away instead. Just like he told Olivia Benson when he left, he had to walk away. It was the only choice for him to separate from everything about SVU and the Manhattan DA’s Office. Too much baggage, too many emotions always vying for control. Even his caffeine intake went down when he got to Columbia. Everything was different now.

This time, to his surprise, Carisi doesn’t follow.

* * *

Rafael doesn’t know why he’s sneaking into the courtroom that’s hosting Carisi’s case. He wants to turn away the second his cab stops outside of the courthouse steps. Looking at it in real-time makes it all the more real that he’s doing this. It had taken him a week before he caved and decided to check on the state of the DA’s office for himself. He had done well for a few years, and now he’s standing in front of his old workspace, looking at the pillars with forlorn. The last time he was here, he had walked away and forced himself forward. Now, he was looking back and wondering if, somewhere along the way, he had made a mistake.

There are zero changes to the corridors he’s guided down. It’s strange to go through the metal detectors with the rest of the city’s population. To sit in the courtroom—not the one where he was tried, thankfully—and watch the rest of the proceedings feels like a dream. What’s even more unnerving is that no one from Carisi’s former police unit is in the courtroom. If there are any, the ones who have known him longest did not stick around.

Carisi looks incredible in a courtroom. Rafael always knew he could be a skilled lawyer when the right opportunity crossed his path. When he delivers his summation, he spins around the room and keeps his eyes trained on the jury. Their attention is clearly trained on him, taking in every movement, some in agreement if their body language tells him anything, others a bit better in showing it. Rafael wonders, for a brief second, if he can tell.

The way he speaks is especially interesting. Carisi enunciates the points of the case—his hands grip the bar separating them from the courtroom floor—with firmness for the severity of the crime and tenderness for the people most affected. He lingers on the right points, his voice wavers in volume, and his conclusion tapers off so well, Rafael would have no choice but to side with the prosecution.

The jury is released to deliberate, court is dismissed, and Rafael lingers behind the prosecution’s desk to talk to Carisi. The ADA and defense attorney share a few words while the defendant is led away, and they shake hands before separating. Carisi stops in his tracks when he sees Rafael waiting for him, but he breaks out of his daze with a small smile. He walks over to him in just a few steps and waves him forward, so far not a lick of animosity in his actions.

“Fancy seeing you here, Professor,” Carisi remarks. “Were you in the neighborhood?”

Rafael smirks at him. “I had some loose ends to tie.” Carisi smiles, and the amount of mirth in those smooth lips and dimpled cheeks frustrates him. “You looked good out there.”

“Thanks.”

“If I had known you’d be out here on your own, I might have come sooner.”

Carisi must catch what he references, not even bothering to ask for clarification. A flash of recognition appears in his eyes. “Ah, yeah, they would have been here, but they caught a case this morning. They got here right when they got the call.” He shrugs, and Rafael feels a bit better to know that Carisi hadn’t been intentionally stranded. “I’m not offended.”

“Of course not. Duty calls.” They pause in the lobby, perhaps a bit nostalgic if things were different for them. “I’m…proud of you, Carisi.” Carisi starts to protest, shaking his head, but Rafael stops him from denying it. “I mean it. You’ve worked hard to get here. You studied and passed the bar while having a full-time job, and now you’re an ADA. Not many people could do this.”

Carisi smiles, warm and small, and looks sheepishly down at his feet. “If anything, it’s because I had you to learn from.”

_ “I admire your, uh…” _

_ “Suicidal streak?” _

Rafael laughs—whether at the memory or the present-day compliment, he isn’t sure. He can figure it out later. “It’s been a few years since I worked as a prosecutor, you know. And another ADA between my time and yours.”

At the mention, Carisi frowns and makes a sound of disgust. “Sure, follow someone who stood against everything I believed instead of someone who only ever encouraged me to stand for my beliefs. It was a tough decision.”

“Carisi—”

“No, just…” Carisi shuts his eyes. “I’m not talking about why you left. I mean before that.”

Rafael’s smile is grim, heavy with the implication that goes unsaid in the ADA’s comment. “You always thought so much more of me. Do you ever get tired of that optimism?”

“Not when it’s about you. I know the person you were. I worked with him, I shadowed him, I learned from him.” The corners of his lips twitch up, and he snickers quietly under his breath. “Do you remember what I said to you after I took the bar?”

“Sure.” Of course he did. The words had been kept in his heart since they were uttered. The soft look Carisi fixed him with drifted into his dreams.

Carisi steps close to him. If Rafael were more cautious of his personal space with this man, he’d push his shoulder and put some space between them. But he knows there’s more to their relationship than he’s thought of. There always has been. “You forget how much I meant it. You were a teacher before Columbia hired you. I was the prototype.”

Rafael snorts at the comment. He should know better, when something so innocent is being said, but he truly can’t help himself. “Should I thank you for being my first?”

“Come on,” Carisi sighs, disappointment fluttering over his expression briefly, “you know what I mean.”

“I do.” He shifts even closer than Carisi had, eyes drifting over his suit, pausing on the tie neatly pressed against his chest and the flattering contrast to his shirt. “I admire the attempt.”

“Attempt? Give me a bit more credit.”

Rafael chuckles. “I should, shouldn’t I? I’m responsible for this.”

Carisi smirks at him. “Alright, don’t give yourself  _ too _ much credit.”

He smooths down his vest, lingering on the hem. Carisi presses his forehead against his, long nose hovering above his bridge, his eyes fluttering shut as a deep sigh falls past his lips. Rafael wishes for a time where they had a chance to explore each other. The only loose ends between them were the ones from their own doing, always suggesting the possibility of more but never committing. He says as much, a whisper, sad and heavy, just for Carisi.

He expects rejection. For declining a relationship with them, he wants it to prove himself wrong. He forgets who he’s talking about.

“Let’s get out of here, Barba.”

“Yeah?”

Carisi nods. “Make up for lost time.”

* * *

There’s not much to explain.

Rafael, without any classes, and Carisi, free for the evening, go back to Rafael’s. There’s no hurried movements or anxious undressing. Maybe, if they were still colleagues, if they were a few years younger, they would wrap themselves up in the scandalous nature of their relationship: detective and prosecutor, law and order, coworkers. Perhaps there was another universe where they got together sooner, one where they didn’t wait until they were out of each other’s lives to make the connection.

They don’t have sex. They simply cuddle on the couch and listen to music, whatever sat on the old record player his  _ abuelita _ gave him years ago. Carisi had asked him, rather politely, if he could kiss him when they entered his apartment, and Rafael had been able to pull himself away since.

“You taste sweet,” Rafael mumbles to him when they separate. Carisi just laughs and resumes molding their lips together, caressing the back of his head. He should be waking up any second—there’s no way he shouldn’t be. But if he’s dreaming, he lets this play on, and he only hopes that the dream ends sooner rather than later. He isn’t sure how well he could take having Carisi accept him—without much prompting, he reminds himself—and then have him ripped away.

“I like kissing you,” he says. Rafael burrows his face into his shoulder and hums. “We need to talk about some things, but…I think we can wait for that.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He scoots closer, toeing his shoes off as he moves closer, and he wraps his arms lazily over his shoulders. The vest is definitely tailored well to his body; it makes him look leaner and taller than he is. “I think we need time.”

Carisi sits up and gazes at him, a bit distracted, his lips puffy. “Why did you really come to the courthouse?”

“Like I said, I had loose ends to fix. You…” Rafael groans, rolling his eyes before he utters the words. “You had a point, the other day. About me being distant despite your attempts. And I wanted to prove to myself that you were wrong.”

Carisi smirks. “Didn’t work too well, huh?”

“Are you complaining?”

“Maybe a little.”

Rafael smacks him lightly, playful more than anything, and Carisi laughs. If this is all a figment of his imagination, Rafael hopes he never goes back. He’s heard that sound, carefree and unrestrained, paired with his bright smile and the cave of his dimples, and he wants nothing else. He can live off of that sight alone. He wraps his arms tighter around his shoulders, clawing at his back and flexing.

“You’re very cuddly,” Carisi points out.

“Finish that sentence and I’m not calling you Sonny,” Rafael warns, smiling despite the threat. The laugh rumbles against his chest, and he just pulls Carisi closer to engrave the memory in his mind, against his body, and cherish it.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that Rafael Barba is definitely a koala in disguise.”

“You’re the embodiment of a baby giraffe, and you want to judge  _ me _ for showing affection?” Rafael shakes his head with a quiet “tsk” and runs his hand through his hair. “So hypocritical.”

Carisi shrugs, and he fixes him with a grin so wide, Rafael’s cheeks hurt just looking at it. “You don’t seem too bothered by it. What’s that say about you?”

“We’ll figure it out.” He smiles at his own level, softer than Carisi but with the same level of emotions in it. There’s a whole list of the things they need to talk about—Rafael is still cautious to reach out to the squad he used to work with—Carisi, after so long, despite his wandering hands and tender kisses, needs some answer—but just sitting beside him and enjoying his presence without the pressure of thinking about everything is helpful.

Rafael rests his head on Carisi’s shoulder. He has time to tie up the loose ends. For now, he can keep Carisi close and make up for lost time.

**Author's Note:**

> mforpaul once tweeted "take a shot every time Chey writes about koala!Barba" and while I don't condone alcohol poisoning I do support koala!Barba please recognize him and treat him well


End file.
